


Got Your Back, Jack

by Hazel_Athena



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, could probably be read as gen, hurt comfort, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: The force of the nightmare is such that it jerks him awake unexpectedly, his sides heaving with exertion and his throat feeling like it’s caught in a vice, something cold and hard clamped around it and leaving him unable to breathe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started this one a couple weeks ago, didn't think I was going to finish it because I hit a roadblock, and then the Deleted Scenes (yes, they deserve capital letters, goddamnit) dropped and I had approximately 18 million Vasquez-related feels. Someone give that poor boy a hug, a blanket fort, and a family that will never leave him. Dear God.

The force of the nightmare is such that it jerks him awake unexpectedly, his sides heaving with exertion and his throat feeling like it’s caught in a vice, something cold and hard clamped around it and leaving him unable to breathe.

Shaking, Vasquez wraps his arms around his torso and fights to calm down through sheer force of will. He can’t remember the last time he had a dream that unsettled him so – honestly, it’s possible he never has – and sitting here in the pitch black of night, with their campfire a fading memory and the rest of his fellows slumbering peacefully on around him, it almost feels like he’s been cast into another world, some strange place where only he and he alone exists.

That’s a stupid thought though, and if he chokes out a laugh that’s more akin to a whimper, at least no one else is awake to hear it.

He thinks about trying to fall back to sleep, it’s obviously still the middle of the night, so he has plenty of time before he has to be up again - plus after yesterday he doesn’t think anyone’s going to be rushing him to do anything. However, sleep means potentially returning to the place his head had just sent him, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

Shivering slightly, he realizes that he’s kicked his blanket off at some point in his wild thrashing. He eyes it where it’s lying a few feet out of reach, crumpled and tousled like he’d fought it as much as he had his inner demons, and decides he’ll wait to retrieve it until he feels less like his insides will go spilling out in a dozen different directions if he uncurls from his current position.

Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees as he takes several long, shuddering breaths to try and get his heart to stop beating quite so fast. Maybe if he can get one part of him to relax, the rest will follow. He’d very much appreciate being able to breathe normally again.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like this, hunched in on himself and panting raggedly into the night, and he’s so caught up in the emotions roiling through him that he misses it when he ceases to be the only person who’s awake until his travel blanket is unceremoniously tossed over his head as someone else settles down next to him. Struggling to pull free of the unexpected fabric onslaught, Vasquez can barely make out the shape of another person in what little light is coming off the embers of the mostly dead fire, but he knows who it is well enough. Anyone else would have made their entrance more politely. 

“Alright then?” Faraday asks, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle in a way Vasquez has never heard it before.

He briefly considers lying, but it’s not as if there’s any point. Faraday’s many things, but a true idiot isn’t one of them. “No,” he rasps finally, fisting his hands in the blanket and tugging it more securely around himself.

“Bad dream?” Faraday asks when he doesn’t elaborate further.

“Something like that,” Vasquez replies. He shudders again as it comes back to him.

“Hey,” Faraday murmurs, no doubt able to feel it through the hand he now brings up and rests on Vasquez’s back. “You’re fine. We ran him off. Ain’t no way he’s goin’ to have the nerve to come after you again.”

“Sí, I know.” But knowing something to be true isn’t always enough. If it ever is at all.

They sit in silence for a few moments, but because Faraday’s Faraday he’s compelled to break it eventually. “Can I get you anythin’?”

Vasquez snorts. “You channelling Billy now, guero? Going to offer me the kind of smoke that will put me back out for the night?”

Faraday snorts in return. “I’m afraid I can’t do that on account of how I don’t have any.” He quiets briefly, and Vasquez suspects he’s waggling his eyebrows in that exaggerated way he does when he’s trying to be funny. “I guess I could wake Billy up and see if he does, but you need to promise to sew me back together when he sticks a bunch of knives in me.”

Vasquez does laugh at that, if only a little and with nothing close to approaching his usual gusto, and Faraday makes a pleased sound. “Anyway,” he says. He pulls his hand back – Vasquez sternly tells himself he doesn’t miss the contact – and roots around in the vest he’d still been wearing even in sleep. “How about this?”

There’s a sloshing sound, and that’s all Vasquez needs to know that Faraday’s just pulled out his ever-present flask. He laughs again, and this time it’s a little more real. “You are a ridiculous man,” he says fondly. “Give it here.”

“Ah ah, you have to share,” Faraday tells him, undoing the cap and taking a hearty swig before passing the whole thing over.

Vasquez rolls his eyes, not particularly caring that Faraday can’t see it, and knocks back a drink of his own. The whiskey, cheap, rotgut swill that it is, burns as it slides down his throat, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. At least it does a little something to push the feeling of panic down deeper, less close to the surface.

There’s not much alcohol left in the flask to begin with – they’d left town so quickly Faraday probably hadn’t had a chance to top it off – and it doesn’t take them long to finish it off between the two of them. Once he’s shaken the last few drops onto his tongue, Vasquez sighs despondently and hands the empty container back to Faraday.

For his part, Faraday gives the thing a shake himself, before stuffing it back into the depths of his vest. “Well,” he says, nudging Vasquez with his shoulder. “That help at all?”

Vasquez shrugs. “Some.”

Faraday laughs, albeit more quietly than he normally does so as not to wake any of the others. “Y’know, a lot of the time when I hear that word now, I think of Red and him admittin’ how he can speak English. You remember that night? Out on the porch in Rose Creek? I wonder who taught him – don’t think he’s ever said.”

“You should wake him up and ask him.” Vasquez suggests.

Faraday makes a dismissive sound that tapers off into something awfully close to a giggle. “I didn’t have _that_ , much to drink, thanks. Hell, I don’t think I’ve _ever_ been so drunk as to think that’d be a good idea.”

Vasquez has his doubts where the veracity of this claim is concerned, but right now Faraday is a warm and frankly comforting presence tucked up against his side. There’s no need to say something rude and risk having him pull away.

Faraday hums quietly to himself, small noises that Vasquez doesn’t think correlate with any particular tune, or at least not one he’s familiar with it, and Vasquez exhales slowly as more of the crushing panic from earlier eases back and away from him.

“That was the closest anyone’s ever gotten before,” he says quietly, the words slipping out before he’s made the conscious decision to let them.

“Hmm?” Faraday’s wordless tune cuts off, and Vasquez can feel it as he turns to face towards him.

He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, waiting until the entirety of the exhalation has been let out before he says, “Today. That was the closest any bounty hunter has ever come to catching me before.”

Closing his eyes, he can see the events of the previous afternoon unfold all over again.

They’d made their way into town only a few hours before, a little nowhere plot of land that was barely more than a few wooden buildings rising up out of the dusty plain. It’d been enough to catch their attention, however, the seven of them having been on the road for so long that a chance at a good home cooked meal, a break from each other’s company, and maybe a drink or two had seemed like a welcome respite. None of them had been aware at the time that they weren’t the only visitors to arrive in town that day.

Vasquez had parked himself in the saloon, tucked into a corner with one eye on the building entrance and the other on where Faraday was holding court with a number of the locals, always wary of how everybody’s favorite magician might forget himself and accidentally start yet another bar fight by cheating at cards. Chisolm had been inside as well, tucked up neatly against the bar, facing away from them and enjoying a glass of whiskey, while Billy and Goodnight had vanished upstairs for some time to themselves, and neither Horne nor Red had shown any interest in coming inside.

The sound of an irate, accusing voice had dragged the entirety of Vasquez’s attention over to Faraday, and he’d had to fight back to the urge to sigh when he’d found the other man – his face a picture of exaggerated innocence – with his hands raised in front of him as one of the local farmers accused him of keeping cards tucked up his sleeve.

Vasquez hadn’t doubted for a moment that he’d been doing just that. In fact, there were days when he was half-convinced Faraday did so on purpose just to see if anyone was good enough to catch him at it. Rolling his eyes, Vasquez had pushed away from the wall and had just started to make his way over to the table – after all someone had to save Faraday’s hide, and Chisolm was much more likely to let the idiot suffer a few blows before he bothered to step in – when someone had cleared their throat behind him.

“Would you be Mr. Vasquez by any chance?” A low voice had rasped behind him.

Vasquez had turned at the sound of his name and sucked in a surprised breath when he’d come face to face with the business end of a pistol. He hadn’t recognized the man holding the gun on him, but he had a look to him that suggested he wouldn’t hesitate when it came to pulling the trigger.

“Who is asking?” Vasquez had queried, raising his hands cautiously as his entire field of vision had narrowed in on the cocked pistol and nothing else.

“Call me O’Hare,” the man had smiled, “I’m a warrant officer by way of Louisiana, and you, my friend, look an awful lot like a man who’s about to make me a fair amount of money.”

O’Hare’s smile had grown. “I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t much expectin’ to find the most expensive bounty on my list in a place like this. Hell of a lucky coincidence for me, don’t you think?”

Vasquez had swallowed, running in his head the odds of his being able to go for his own guns before O’Hare had time to get a shot off. He couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to drop his guard in a town he didn’t know. Hell, he couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to set foot in a town at all. There was a reason he’d been sharing space with a dead man before Chisolm had found him and dragged him off to Rose Creek, and this was it. In a fight in a public bar between a warrant officer and an outlaw, the outlaw was going to lose every time – the locals wouldn’t be willing to step in where the law was concerned.

His gun still raised, O’Hare had taken a step forward, only to freeze when the click of another pistol sounded out. Surprised, O’Hare had jerked his head to the side, his eyes widening when he came face to face with Chisolm, his face tight and with one of his own guns drawn.

"I wouldn't," Chisolm had said in that quiet way of his.

At the same time, a crashing sound had rung out behind Vasquez as Faraday had decided discretion was the better part of valor and knocked the card table flying as he’d charged across the room, shouting as he came.

“Billy! Goodnight! Best get down here, boys! We’ve got a situation brewin’!”

And in a rush, reality had come hurtling back in on Vasquez as he remembered he’d come in here because he _hadn’t_ been alone. He _had_ people watching his back, people who were far more dangerous than a lone bounty hunter who’d accidentally bitten off more than he could chew. In hindsight, one could almost feel sorry for the man.

The mess hadn’t lasted long after that. Having a number of guns unexpectedly drawn on him – not counting Faraday and Chisolm, Goodnight had taken position up high with his rifle pointed down to cover anyone on the floor below, while Billy had already been halfway down the stairs, two knives out and in his hands – had caused O’Hare to back off as quick as could be. He’d fled as soon as he’d been able, not willing to risk tangling with such an imposing collection of individuals.

After that Chisolm had decided town wasn’t the place for them that day. They’d left almost immediately, gathering Horne and Red along the way, and had been back on the road in what felt like only a matter of minutes.

Vasquez had tried not to think much of it when it first happened, at best managing a sort of detached numbness whenever anyone had asked him if he was alright, and he’d kept that up until well after they were all bedded down in the wilderness. Yet, now here he was, struggling to get a hold of himself as the days events finally catch up with him, and being haphazardly comforted by the most unlikely of his friends.

Faraday huffs out a breath beside him, the sound dragging Vasquez out of his musings and back to the present.

“That ain’t true,” he says, like he thinks this will somehow make things better. “The way I heard it told, Sam and Mrs. Cullen got way closer to you back before we all met up outside of Junction City.”

Vasquez snorts at this. “Shows what you know, guero. You weren’t there. Chisolm may have been the first to track me down, but he came in unarmed, and I had Ms. Emma taken care of well before she could become a problem.”

Faraday laughs at that. “I heard,” he crows, obviously delighted. “I can’t believe you fuckin’ lassoed the woman who shot Bart Bogue in the head. You’re lucky you’re still breathin’, amigo.”

Rolling his eyes in the dark, Vasquez shifts to elbow Faraday in the ribs as best he can. “Cabrón,” he mutters rudely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Faraday says glibly, apparently not bothered by Vasquez’s attitude in the slightest. “Look, my point is this, Sam Chisolm is the only man who ever caught up to you. That jackass from today stumbled over you by accident, and I imagine he’s goin’ to be regrettin’ that for quite a while given how alarmed he looked when he came face to face with a whole crew of men willin’ to kill him for you.”

He pauses for a moment and then adds thoughtfully, “Hell, this might even be a good thing where you’re concerned.”

Vasquez makes a disbelieving sound, and this time it’s Faraday’s turn to elbow _him_ in the ribs. “Honestly, think about it. We let that sorry bastard go, and chances are real good he’s goin’ to tell folks you’re runnin’ with a bunch of handsome – in at least one case that is - and deadly sharpshooters. It might make some of ‘em look for easier targets.”

Faraday’s suggestion may have some logic behind it, although Vasquez is hardly willing to risk his life on it, but telling him so will just have him puffing up with pride, not unlike a particularly annoying chicken. Which is why what Vasquez says instead is, “You calling yourself handsome, guero?”

“Well, obviously,” Faraday scoffs. “Who’d you think I was talkin’ about? Goodnight? The man’s got a face like a rodent. Horne? Old enough to have fathered half the men in this travellin’ circus of ours. Billy? Too terrifyin’ to ever be anythin’ else.”

“Alright, alright,” Vasquez says, laughing in spite of himself and reaching out to shake Faraday by the shoulder in order to stem the tide of insults against their friends. “That’s enough, Faraday. You’ve made your point. Even,” he adds with a grin, “if I do not agree with it.”

Faraday lets out an indignant squawk, the sound loud enough that Vasquez is momentarily nervous it’ll have woken one or more of the others, and tries to elbow him again.

“Honestly,” he grumbles when Vasquez narrowly dodges out of his way, “you try and cheer a man up and this is the thanks you get. You’re an ungrateful ass, Vasquez.”

Rather than answer him verbally at first, Vasquez lets his body go loose, sagging back against Faraday until they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder yet again. He smirks knowingly to himself when the other man makes no move to shove him off. “You are all talk, guero,” he says finally. “Allll talk.”

“Ahh, shut up,” Faraday mutters, still making no move to pull away. He sniffs theatrically. “I’d’ve taken your side if you’d said it.”

Vasquez laughs again. “You saying you think I’m handsome, guero?”

He feels it as Faraday shrugs beside him. “Eh, you’re alright, I guess.”

Vasquez considers continuing to needle at him, but decides against it. Instead, he lets out a yawn, suddenly hit with a wave of tiredness in the wake of his fading adrenaline rush. Lazily, he readjusts his blanket around himself, sinking lower until he can rest his head on Faraday’s shoulder.

“You goin’ to sleep on me there, amigo?” Faraday asks, and Vasquez doesn’t need light to know that his eyebrows are currently somewhere around his hairline.

Vasquez hums to himself. Now that it’s decided to come, exhaustion is hitting him like a sack of bricks. “Your accent is terrible,” he mumbles, voice slurring slightly. “I’m ashamed on behalf of my people.”

Faraday huffs a laugh. “Go to sleep, Vas. You ain’t coherent enough to be talkin’ anymore.”

Vasquez wants to protest – has every intention of doing so, truly – only he can’t seem to form the right words. By the time he thinks he has them, he’s already drifted off.

*****

He wakes up the next morning, still bundled up in his blanket and with Faraday asleep not far from him. Off to one side, Goodnight and Chisolm are having a low-voiced argument about something, who knows what – possibly breakfast choices – while Billy watches them from his perch atop a nearby boulder. Horne he can’t see from his current vantage point, and Red Harvest is sitting across from the other three, quietly munching on something he’d no doubt cooked for himself since he still doesn’t trust that the rest of them know how to prepare food.

Sitting up slowly, he kicks the blanket back, and snickers when it lands on Faraday, who bats at it half-heartedly.

“Come on, Faraday,” he says jovially. “Time to get up and see what the day has in store for us.”

“Lord save me from goddamn morning people,” Faraday groans. “Go back t’sleep, you bastard. Same goes for the rest of you lot,” he adds, gesturing at the other men spread out around the campsite. “A man could die of exhaustion around you people.”

Still grumbling to himself, he climbs slowly to his feet as Vasquez does the same. “Someone had better have started breakfast already, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

Vasquez chuckles and throws an arm over his shoulders. He feels better today than he has in a long time. "I'm sure we can find you something."

**Author's Note:**

> In other news, I have finally caved and gotten myself a tumblr. I'm hazel-athena over there, and anybody who's interested should come hit me up and yell about fannish things with me. :D


End file.
